


forget-me-(not)

by Larissa



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Heroism, M/M, Memories, Other, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22639183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larissa/pseuds/Larissa
Summary: You’d done your best to forget about G’raha Tia.Turns out you’re not good at everything after all.–––Character study of the Warrior of Light through Shadowbringers.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch & Warrior of Light, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 10
Kudos: 139
Collections: Final Fantasy XIV - Crystal Exarch x WoL Recommendations





	forget-me-(not)

**Author's Note:**

> I genuinely don't know if this is genfic or shipfic. Up to you.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

You’d done your best to forget about G’raha Tia.

There was no point in dwelling on it, after all. He’d gone and sealed himself away in a tower like some fairytale prince — only it’s not like the stories, and you can’t wake him up. You’ve seen technology do amazing things (mostly in the form of Garlean weaponry aimed directly at you), but even you know the Crystal Tower is beyond anyone’s reach. G’raha is gone, and you won’t ever see him again.

It doesn’t stop you from wishing you could. He’d been a friend to you, a _real_ friend, the kind you hadn’t had in— you don’t remember how long. He wasn’t like the Scions, who for all their well-meaning do-goodness see you as a weapon for them to wield. It had been your choice to become their weapon, their shield, their spear, their axe, but there had still been a part of you that wanted to be nothing more than a nameless adventurer.

G’raha had found that in you, and delighted in it. He’d played his games, yes, but there was an earnestness to him that you found yourself admiring. He made no secret of his hopes and dreams, and asked nothing of you but to tag along in his efforts to make them come true.

You’d surpassed him, of course. You’d been the one to charge into the depths of the Crystal Tower, and he’d been left to follow in your wake of destruction like so many others. Yet he had never once begrudged you for it, and simply worked to better himself in order to fight alongside you. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to stand up to the Cloud of Darkness by himself — but he’d been there all the same, and you’d cherished him for it.

And then he’d gone and locked himself in a tower, behind a door you couldn’t fight your way through.

———

You’re lousy at it, forgetting.

In some strange way it’s a comfort. For a while there you’d been afraid it would go to your head, this ability you have to take on anything you choose and accomplish it without breaking a sweat. It’s already getting to the point _you’re_ not sure how you’re doing it.

Even so— even so, you’d rather forget. You’re the Warrior of Light. You’re supposed to be thinking of the battles ahead, not the ones you’ve already won. You’re not supposed to daydream about an adventure you’ll never get to have. Countless opportunities are spun out before you. You need only choose a direction.

And how can you be a hero if you don’t move forward?

———

You think of him so often it’s almost comical. It’s as if he’s a specter in your mind, a ghost who follows your every step. You’re haunted, and you’re not sure you want to be exorcised.

It’s the worst when you come across an Allagan ruin — and there are so many it’s like the ancients are laughing at your feeble attempts to forget. It doesn’t matter if you travel to the depths of the earth or beyond the clouds. Allag is _everywhere_ , and so is he, offering commentary in the form of all those history lessons he’d shared with you in your time together.

 _Azys Lla: a floating continent. Can you imagine it? Oh, certainly there are natural formations, floating islands and the like, but this was of_ mankind’s _making. They turned the land into the sky itself. Is it any wonder that we should find the Crystal Tower still occupied, with such power at their disposal? Well, rather less occupied now that you’ve cleared it out, I should say._  
_  
_ (It still is, you think. And you’re not strong enough to change that. You never will be.)

———

And then the memories start to fade.

You find yourself forgetting which of his eyes was the Allagan one. It was the left, wasn’t it? No, the right, he’d made a poor attempt at covering it with his hair. Or was his part on the other side?

You come across a new ruin, all the way on the other side of the world, but there’s no voice in your head. No excited commentary on what this thing is or does. You’ve always been able to remember, to put the pieces together based on context, but you stare at the strange formations in this cave without recognition.

G’raha didn’t know about this. So you don’t, either.

And you can’t ever tell him you found it.

———

Maybe it’s not such a bad thing, to forget. You’d tried, hadn’t you? You’d never wanted to remember in the first place. Losing him had been too painful. You didn’t want to remember what it was like to have a true friend. It made your job easier. You had no name other than the Warrior of Light. No one wanted it.

But things are different, now. You have the Scions — still well-meaning do-gooders, but _your_ well-meaning do-gooders. You know they care for you, and you can’t help but feel the same. You treasure Alisaie’s smiles, Alphinaud’s quiet faith, Thancred’s loyalty, Y’shtola’s candor, Tataru’s gifts. You’ve even grown to appreciate Urianger’s loquaciousness, even if you’re not entirely sure what he’s saying half the time. (You secretly suspect he doesn’t either.)

And it’s not just them. You’ve met other people along your journey who you can call friends — more than you’d ever thought you’d have. Aymeric, the stalwart. Estinien, the freed. Hien, the honorable. Yugiri, the faithful. Lyse, the persistent. And you’ve lost more people: Haurchefant, the accepting. Ysayle, the unwavering. Papalymo, the loyal. Minfilia, the chosen.

You still miss G’raha Tia. You always will, you think — but you no longer _need_ him as you once did. You’re honest enough to admit to yourself that you’re not sure how much of him you remember, and how much you simply made up to make yourself feel better.

Maybe you’d just wanted someone to need you instead of the Warrior of Light.

———

You’re going to punch the Crystal Exarch.

More than once, if you manage it. You don’t even have the words for how angry you are with him. He’d taken every last one of your friends away, and then he’d almost gotten you _killed_.

Worse, he’s decided that _his_ cause is more important than _yours._ Haven’t you done that _enough?_ How many more wars do you have to win for other people? Can’t you, just once, decide your _own_ fate?

Or is that just another thing you lost in the name of Hydaelyn?

———

You’re going to punch the Crystal Exarch all the way up until you meet him.

After all, you need him in one piece to explain _what the hell is going on_. Either you’ve finally lost it, or you’re standing at the foot of the Crystal Tower. The Crystal Tower, which you _just saw_ in Mor Dhona. You’re either seeing things, or this is a _very_ accurate (and likewise inexplicable) recreation.

 _Come now, old friend. Surely you know the marvels of the ancients are not so easily duplicated_.

You know it’s not him, that it’s a half-remembered, twisted echo conjured up by your own brain — but it’s reassuring, all the same.

Like you could ever investigate the Crystal Tower without him.

———

You ask the Exarch about G’raha Tia, and he doesn’t recognize the name.

It doesn’t make sense — but then, neither does the presence of the Crystal Tower, and you’ve come to terms with that. You don’t _want_ to, you want to push and pry until you get the answers you want, but you can’t. Your duty comes first, as it always has. You’re still not entirely sure you believe the Exarch’s story, but if even half of what he claims is true, you _have_ to save this world first.

Like it wasn’t hard enough being _one_ world’s hero.

At least your friends — your _family_ is safe. You embrace Alisaie the moment you find her. You do the same for Alphinaud. You don’t ever want to lose them again.

And if you have to save the world to get them home — well, at least you have experience.

———

The ghost in your head is real.

Or at least you hope he is — because you do quite enough talking to yourself already, and you didn’t need another outlet for _that_. Yet each time Ardbert appears before you, you can’t help but find his words familiar.

You’re not sure why. Norvrandt is a fractured mirror of all you knew in the Source, a misshapen reflection, yet when Ardbert speaks of his struggle you feel as if you’ve heard the words before. That you’ve been through the things he describes, a world and a century removed. Maybe each world has a hero who gave up their life to save the rest.

Or maybe it’s wishful thinking and you’re just desperate to commiserate.

———

You don’t trust Emet-Selch.

It’s refreshing, here, to have something you’re completely _sure_ about. So much of Norvrandt is painted in shades of grey, the _right thing_ never obvious. You can’t punch and shoot and stab your way through this land the way you did back home. You do plenty of that, as always, but it only leads you in circles.

Do you trust the Exarch? Maybe. Do you trust Ardbert? Probably. Do you trust Emet-Selch? _Fuck no_.

And yet you’re fascinated by him all the same. For so long the Ascians have hidden behind faceless hoods and formless masks, much as the Exarch does, yet Emet-Selch bears a face he calls his own. He speaks plainly, claiming no guile, no misdirection, no lies — and you find yourself believing him despite all evidence to the contrary.

Perhaps he’s simply tired of putting up a front. You certainly are.

(It doesn’t mean you trust him.)

———

So you’re dying.

It had to happen sometime. You’d accustomed yourself to that when you started this gig. That was all you wanted in the beginning: a glorious death, one that would leave your deeds imprinted on those who witnessed them. You wanted to be remembered as someone brave — foolish, perhaps, but unassailably _brave_.

Only you didn’t die, and you didn’t die, and you didn’t die. You can’t even begin to count the number of fiends who should have laid you low, and didn’t. You survived, over and over and over again, until you started to question your own mortality.

So you’re not too fussed about it. You still have a duty, after all. Slay the Lightwardens, save the world. Never thought it’d be _Light_ that killed you, but, well. When in Radz-at-Han, as the saying went.

———

Then the Exarch tells you that you have to live.

You’re angry, at first. Haven’t you lived _enough?_ Haven’t you done _enough?_ No one could possibly claim you haven’t lived a full life. You’ve accomplished more than the bards can sing in one ballad. You’ve saved and saved and saved. You don’t need anyone to save _you_.

Live, the Exarch says. Go home, the Exarch says, to those you have not yet saved. To those who still need you.

You want to argue with him. You should, for your own sake. But you don’t.

After all, saving this world saves your own. That’s why he called _you_ here. Why would he have bothered if you weren’t supposed to go back?

———

It cannot possibly be him.

It can’t, and yet you can think of nothing else. The Exarch wields magic as easily as breathing. He matches your pace without breaking a sweat. He can call forth a shield of pure aether to defend you. He is not some young bowman yet to reach the peak of his potential.

(It _could_ have been, if there had been time. You’d offered to teach him how _you_ shift from one stance to the next, if archery did not suit. There was always a place on the battlefield for one more minded for support, whether by taking the blows meant for others or undoing them.)

It cannot possibly be G’raha Tia. You would have recognized him. You cannot imagine otherwise. How long has he lived in your head? How long did you _keep_ him there?

(Do you even remember what he sounds like, or is his voice just an echo of your own? Do you remember what he looks like? Do you remember anything about him?)

It cannot be him. It cannot.

Because if it is, then you’ve failed him.

———

You can’t bring yourself to ask. You can’t even imagine it. You let him tell you all about his hopes and dreams, about his fervent wish to go on a grand adventure, and you can do little but nod. It’s not him. It can’t be.

He smiles at you, and you want to jump off the cliff.

(You have a feeling you’d survive, anyway.)

You have a duty. You have a duty. You have a duty. Defeat the Lightwardens, save the world.

Maybe if you’re lucky it’ll kill you.

———

You’re not lucky.

You’ve never been lucky, no matter how many people seem to think you are. You haven’t accomplished all this through _luck_. You don’t even think it’s you doing it, half the time. You are but an avatar of Hydaelyn’s will, and She occasionally lets you steer.

You are a being of Light. You are the world’s one true hero. You are its savior. You will cleanse the world of impurity. You will turn everything to beautiful, brilliant, _empty_ Light.

This is right, isn’t it? You were always meant to end up like this. You’ve taken so much darkness on your soul to keep those around you from succumbing. Surely this is nothing but balance. An endless pool of Light to wash away the darkness you’ve steeped yourself in.

You can barely breathe. Can barely see.

But you hear him. You _feel_ him, his aether circling you, trapping you, containing you. Containing the Light. You want to snarl at him. Doesn’t he _know_ that this is your fate? How _dare_ he try to stop you?

Then his hood falls back, and something inside you breaks.

———

You knew, deep down.

That’s what you tell yourself, and you even halfway believe it. Of course it was G’raha Tia. Who else could become the master of the Crystal Tower? Who else could have used its endless mysteries to bring hope to a forsaken world? Who else could have denied the title of king and yet become a noble, benevolent ruler all the same? 

You knew, and you didn’t, and you hate yourself for it. If you’d known, you’d— what? You don’t even know what you’d say to him _now_. You have no idea how to face him. How can you possibly admit all the things you’ve done in his name?

How can you admit all the things you _haven’t?_

He’d wanted you to become a hero. To write your name large across the pages of history. You’ve done all that and more.

So why do you feel so _useless?_

———

It’s not until later that you realize what he’s done for you.

He’s done... _everything_ for you. By the gods, this was all by his design. Perhaps he never meant to bring across the Scions, but the rest? He’d given you a place to call your own, something more than the anonymous inn rooms you so often found yourself in. He’d given you a purpose, a _mission_ , something to chart your course by in this strange land. He’d protected you, whether at your side or through distant, unknowable magic. He’d even offered friendship, guarded as it was.

And at the end, he’d willingly offered his life in exchange for yours. Not out of arrogance or bravado or nobility but _faith_ : he believed that you, and you alone, could change the world for the better.

You should be angry at him. For keeping this from you. For taking it all on himself. For manipulating you for his own selfish ends. You can’t even pretend to try — because you know you would have done the same thing for him.

(You know you almost did.)

But you’re still here. And you’ll just have to do what you do best.

You still owe him that punch, after all.

———

You don’t punch him.

You smile and say his name and G’raha Tia openly weeps before you. You have no care for pretense: you embrace him as you’ve long imagined, pulling him close and burying your hands in his tattered robes. His arms curl around you, hesitant at first before squeezing tight, tight, the way you wish you had before the doors closed. Before you lost him.

“I missed you,” you murmur against his ear. “More than you’ll ever know.”

And this time, you’re not letting go.

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not write a follow-up; if so it'll be a separate work rather than a second chapter.
> 
> ETA: [Wrote a follow-up!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23270944)
> 
> You can find me on twitter at [larissacreates](https://twitter.com/larissacreates) (writing and projects) and [farfromdaylight](https://twitter.com/farfromdaylight) (general ff14 yelling, screencaps, rts, etc).


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